


The Night Turns Cold (and i turn weak)

by starkboi



Series: Flesh and Bone [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, Internal Monologue, No Dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 01:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18297827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkboi/pseuds/starkboi
Summary: It’s too much for Tony right now. To stand among the richest people in New York, people who are chomping at the bit to get the final word in, to make themselves be the most charming, most important, most attractive, it’s all bullshit. What is the point of it all?(AKA: Tony finds comfort in the cold)





	The Night Turns Cold (and i turn weak)

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: tony forces his body through pain in this, it's brief and it wasn't intentionally written to be self harm-esque but i just wanted to mention that here if it's something that will bother some.
> 
> this isn't set anywhere too concrete, but i imagine somewhere in the area after iron man 2. 
> 
> title is from the night is an ocean by winter aid.
> 
> take care of yourselves, and enjoy!

Tony’s been standing out in the cold for eight minutes and counting.

The muffled laughter and fake cheer from the gala inside barely reach his ears with how harsh the wind is blowing. He always hates these things, but tonight is particularly grinding on his too thin patience. He'd been able to last for half an hour of handshakes with men he can't stand and kisses on the cheek for women who hate their own husbands even more than he. Managing to ditch outside onto a deserted balcony with only him and a single potted plant of some sort has been the highlight of Tony's night.

He’s just trying to breathe. Get some fresh air as people like to say. In reality the air inside is fine, if not a little damp and sweet smelling from all the champagne practically being poured straight from the bottle into guests’ waiting mouths. It’s too much for Tony right now. To stand among the richest people in New York, people who are chomping at the bit to get the final word in, to make themselves be the most charming, most important, most attractive, it’s all bullshit. What is the point of it all?

Tony looks up at the cloudy sky, blinking against the wind, he can already feel his cheeks taking the brunt of the chill, leaving flushed skin in its wake as he tilts his head upward. Someone will come looking for him eventually, but these 10 minutes are his to bask in, the only thing out here to bother him is the wind, and even that is more bearable than another exaggerated story waiting for him inside.

He takes a deep breath, letting his tense shoulders drop on the exhale, it’s the most relaxed he’s been all day if not all week. The clouds are thick, the moon barely visible in the more translucent areas, it feels scarily similar to what the inside of Tony’s brain has felt like all night, clouded and unfocused.

The wind blows another strong gust towards him, and Tony has to flex his fingers as they begin to burn white-hot cold before going numb. His body is screaming at him to go back inside, but his head is somewhere else on the matter. He’s being dramatic, no better than his peers inside actually, but he’ll take risking his immune system’s functioning over the alternative. This sliver of peace in a very long run of restless nights is more than comforting right now.

The racing thoughts that consume him daily are gone, now there’s just cold.

Cold that doesn’t care what he’s done or what he might have to do, there’s no discrimination in who it chooses to engulf, an ice encrusted hug against every nerve in his body.

The wind settles for a few minutes, and Tony’s face fights to bring some feeling back with the small reprieve nature has given him. This pain is temporary, it’ll go away as soon as he’s back inside. He used to sit in front of the fire as a child on nights like this, wrapped in a thick quilt on the sofa with his mother, before she drew away, stopped reading him stories at night, no longer kissing his forehead as she tucked him into bed.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, staving off the burn threatening to show itself in the form of tears, not tonight. He can’t think about her tonight.

Opening them again after a moment, Tony looks straight out at the skyline of the city, he takes his last deep breath of crisp air, savoring the way it transforms his chest into an icebox, before turning around and heading back inside.

The music is immediately louder than he remembered and his nose tingles as it clings to the warmth he’s suddenly allowed himself. Tony feels calmer, like he’s gained the willpower to make it through the rest of the event, no longer plagued by the excessive want of a drink burning down his throat.

He spots Pepper, a laughably fake smile on her face while she’s being talked up by another blonde woman with obnoxious hand gestures, he beelines straight to her, not forgetting to slap on a fake smile of his own, his cheeks feeling stiff with the effort of it.

Back to business it is. At least no one can tell he’s made of ice now.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back with some more tony angst for this little series, let me know your thoughts!
> 
> i appreciate any and all feedback.


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